


Crave You Too

by LibraOnFire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Kinda Fluffy, M/M, Masturbation, Not Beta Read, Rimming, Scent Kink, Sibling Incest, The Author Regrets Nothing, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 02:29:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8648263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraOnFire/pseuds/LibraOnFire
Summary: The continuation of the previous bit, Crave You. "Even you have to admit, this is a bit much, even for us.” As soon as he says it, Sam wishes desperately he could take it back.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm exhausted. Any grammatical/anatomical errors are my own, including anything that seems to defy physics. And, as always, I will come up with any excuse to write about these two having sex with each other. This is basically smut for the sake of smut, with a hint of plot. Enjoy.

“You know, I uh, I think about it,” Dean mentions over lunch in a breakfast-all-day diner. “A _lot_ ,” he adds with a quick, pointed look, tearing off a bite of bacon and chewing. It takes Sam a second to catch on, to continue the conversation they weren't having last night. He feels his cheeks warm up a little, remembering the two of them in the front seat of the car and nods for Dean to go on. Meanwhile, he ingests that information, washes it down with a careful pull of fresh coffee from a thick white mug that advertises waffles. He watches Dean scrape up a forkful of scrambled eggs, wondering if the shells they fell from were as delicate as the ones he's been walking on since last night, if the contents were as thoroughly whisked around as his thoughts. He sees the strain of 'sharing and caring' in the subconscious way that Dean lifts his left eyebrow every now and then, that way he has of working through a conversation before putting it out there. Like a shield, Dean picks up a piece of toast, examines it before taking a bite and says, “I don't think we did anything wrong. And I don't think it's anyone's damn business what we do about it.” 

What Sam means to reply with is, “I think about it a lot, too, Dean. It's been on my mind for years. You're sexy as hell, you're smart and funny, and you're basically my other half. Let's go take care of this right now.” What he says instead is, “Dean, look,” and leans toward his brother, arms around his plate to keep them from wrapping around Dean in the middle of a packed diner. “I don't regret anything, and I agree with you: What we do is nobody's business. But,” he leans in a little closer, lowering his voice. “Even you have to admit, this is a bit much, even for us.” As soon as he says it, Sam wishes desperately he could take it back. 

Dean clams right up, a tight half smile on his face for the server when he beckons her over for the check. “That did _not_ come out the way I wanted it to,” Sam says in a rush. 

“Fine. No worries, Sam.” Dean avoids Sam's eyes and slides across the seat away from their table. Sam can't help himself as he watches his older brother stand up out of the booth, Dean's jeans tight in all the right places, his shirt riding up just a little over his belly when he puts his coat back on. He barely has time to register that he should be standing too, that they're leaving, that he's most likely just ruined what could have been a good thing. He hurries to catch up, has just got his other arm in his coat by the time Dean's finished paying for their food, and then they're walking quickly back to their hotel. The air between them, aside from freezing, is heavy with silence. It follows them for two blocks, squeezes in past them before Dean can shut the door to their room. 

“I'm really sorry,” Sam starts as soon as the door's shut, but Dean's already on auto-ignore, losing the coat and in the process of removing his boots at the small Formica table by the window. “Dean, will you please listen to me?” Sam promptly drops his own coat onto the back of the second chair and sits down to face his taciturn brother just in time for Dean to leave him there in favor of his bed, where he randomly opens one of the books he's brought with them. 

“Dean, _please_. I messed up.” Sam sighs when he gets no reaction other than a loudly turned page. 

“Fine,” he agrees tightly and flips open his laptop. Best to keep his hands busy at the moment, because he's not sure what he'll do if he gets them on Dean right now. He maximizes the web browser he was searching through yesterday and mindlessly scrolls through one of the pages he's left up. Information on the American mountain ash floods black and white past his eyes while he tries to ignore Dean back. Which is absolutely ridiculous, because how can you ignore someone who's ignoring you? He presses his lips together and purposely starts typing in a new search query as loudly as possible. That earns him a huff and the crisp flip of two turned pages. He starts a game of Minesweeper, clicking wherever, just clicking repetitively, growing increasingly annoyed by Dean's lack of response. 

Finally, Dean slams the book down on the bed and jumps up, roughly digs through his bag for clean clothes and stomps off for the shower. Sam breathes in and out as calmly as possible. Quietly closes down the Minesweeper window, closes out of each tab individually. This did not go the way he'd hoped it would. He feels like he's back to square one, back to that gangly 15-year-old self that felt half-insane, half-in love with his older brother: Out of his comfort zone so abruptly and no sure way of how to get around it or get what he wanted without fucking it up. Without feeling fucked up about it. 

He leans forward, elbows on the table, and smooths his hair back. He doesn't want Dean to think that he's not interested. Hell, he's probably throwing him for a curve right now, considering just how clearly he made his interest known last night. For the first time in his life, Sam feels like he lacks the vocabulary to make this right, and he's terrified that this is how it'll end between them. 

The bathroom door squeaks open and Dean walks out, in no rush while he stashes his dirty things in a separate section of his bag and tucks it back under the foot of the bed. Sam can only watch, mouth dry, eyes a little wet, as his brother takes his time relocating the books to the bedside table. Dean smooths out the comforter and sits with his back against the wooden headboard. He looks the exact opposite of how Sam feels: Calm, collected, at ease and in control of his thoughts. 

Dean finally looks directly at Sam, pats the space beside himself, and says gruffly, “C'mere, Sam. We need to talk.” Like a child, out of habit, Sam obeys without a second thought. Just goes right over, shuffles up next to his big brother, mirrors Dean's position with legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded in his lap, back against the headboard. There's not even an inch between them but Sam feels it like a chasm and has to watch his own fingers clenching tightly to each other. Then there's a long-suffering sigh beside him and he can't contain the flutter in his stomach as Dean slides right up against him. They're hip to hip, knee to knee. Well, as much as they can be, given their height difference. 

“Sammy,” Dean sighs. “Look at me.” Sam does, turns his head just slightly to the right to look at Dean. He's freshly shaven, won't have that five o'clock shadow until nine o'clock tomorrow morning. His hair and eyelashes are dark and wet, eyes impossibly green like they always are after a shower or when it rains. Sam swallows quietly, takes a deep breath that's all clean skin and fresh laundry. 

“Dean, I really am so sorry.” He apologizes softly, searching Dean's eyes for forgiveness. 

“You don't have anything to be sorry about,” Dean answers. “Listen, you're the one who's always wanting to talk about feelings. So let me get this out, okay?” He tucks a lock of Sam's hair back behind Sam's ear and smiles wryly. “First of all, and most importantly, I'm your big brother, Sam. I'm always going to be around to take care of you, like it or not. That's never going to change, no matter what happens between us. Do you understand me?” 

Sam nods mutely, more than glad to let Dean take the reins on a 'chick-flick moment' for once. 

“Secondly, do you honestly think that what society tells us is wrong, is accurate information by which we should live our lives? I mean, society says ghosts aren't real, that vampires don't exist, and that it's perfectly okay to marry your third cousin but damn it all if you're two consenting same-sex adults.” 

Sam can't help the surprise in his expression at that. Dean spreads his hands, palms up in the air. “What? I read the newspaper now and then.” The tension's lifted a little and Sam huffs a half-laugh, feeling slightly relieved that maybe this is a salvageable situation after all.

“Besides,” Dean continues. “We have to figure for ourselves what's best for us. Hasn't that always been how it is for us? Why should this be any different?” He pauses, looks down, then back up at Sam from under his eyelashes. “I love you, Sammy. More'n what I probably should, but I can't help it. And I want you like nobody else, before or since. I came to terms with that a long time ago, and I've been keeping it to myself for so long that I forgot that you might not feel the same way. Or that I might be imagining things when I thought maybe you did feel the same way about me.” He licks his lips, watches Sam track the movement, and softly, so softly, lays his hand on Sam's shoulder. “So, which is it, Sammy? Was last night a mistake that we can't make again, or do you want me regardless of what anybody might think?”

Sam can't answer, not with words, not yet because they've evaporated into the air around them. So he leans in, slow enough for Dean to back out of it if he wants to, and zeroes in on Dean's lips with his own, closes his eyes at the last second. Deans mouth is warm against his, deliciously full and perfect. It's a quiet press of lips, a chaste taste of potential and acceptance. Sam pulls back to gauge his brother's reaction, to catch a breath that shouldn't have been knocked out of him from something so soft. It's answer enough because Dean's hand moves from Sam's shoulder to grip the back of Sam's neck, pulling him back in for another kiss, changing the angle to something deeper, wetter, something that's got a hint of wild in it.

Sam's happy to follow along, but he makes sure he gives as good as he gets, encourages his older brother to carry on with soft enthusiastic moans between kisses. They take another break for breathing and Sam uses the opportunity to pull him up onto his lap, to wrap his arms around Dean and press his nose into the front of his shirt. He soaks up the smell of Dean, the barely-there scent of sweat and warm skin that he's known his whole life. Sam's head bumps back onto the headboard when his brother firmly brushes Sam's hair back. Dean curves his hands downward to frame Sam's jaw, tilts his face up to look down at his little brother. 

Sam is blown away by the desire he sees reflected in his brother's expression. That intense hooded gaze is directed at him and there's nothing hidden or suspicious in Dean's eyes, only the heat of want. Dean's lips are puffy, shiny from kissing. He'll never be sorry to see that on his brother, aside from the flush of passion that blooms high on Dean's cheeks and spreads down his neck and under the collar of his shirt. 

Dean leans in and presses kisses to the corner of Sam's mouth, nips at his bottom lip. “Sammy,” Dean whispers against his brother's lips. “I want you, right now.” He languorously rolls his hips to prove his point. They're both getting hard, can feel each other's dicks thickening up in their pants, and Dean can't stop a growl of arousal that echoes Sam's groan. 

“Want you, too,” Sam admits roughly. He runs his hands up and down Dean's back, fingers pushing in against the muscle until Dean moans with the pleasure of it. He can feel the bumps and lines of Dean's scars through the cotton, the heat of Dean's skin just underneath it. Sam curls his fingers under the hem, pulls the shirt up and off and tosses it aside. It lands noiselessly wherever, forgotten as soon as it's gone because there are more important things to think about. Like the slightly breathy way that Dean quietly coaxes Sam's shirt off, too. Like how naturally they slot together, sliding down the bed, entwined and yet still somehow able to get their pants off. 

Their knees bump, their hands roam, their voices making a hushed canvas on which the points of their pleasure are pressed. They make their own heat, sweat curling the soft hairs at the nape of Sam's neck and beading up like dew across the curve of Dean's shoulders. They shuffle and roll, moans and soft expletives like a shimmering mist around them. Sam lifts himself up over Dean, cradled in the V of his brother's spread legs, hands bracing his weight on the dense muscle of Dean's thighs. Dean lies there, calm in a whirlpool of early noon sunlight and lust, one hand reaching up to thumb light touches of safety, of acceptance, of need, into the crook of Sam's elbow. Sam's mouth waters when Dean palms himself almost absently, the haze pierced by the hard point of clarity gripped in Dean's unhurried strokes. 

He moves downward, cupping his hands around the underside of Dean's thighs, lifting Dean's hips slightly. Sam lowers his face to the fleshy rise of Dean's pubic mound, rubs the tip of his nose through the auburn hairs that swirl loosely at the base of his cock. He slides his hands upward, grips Dean tightly, groaning at the plush give and resistance under his palms as he kneads his brother's posterior. A throaty moan escapes him as the slant is altered, and he indulges in the thickness of Dean's scent here, his mouth open, chasing the heady aroma down to the source. 

Dean is almost incomprehensible, hips undulating, and he calls out wordlessly when Sam's tongue sweeps from the shadow beneath his sac and back to the root of his length. It's wet and warm and Sam can sense Dean's impatience to be filled, to be fucked. His fingers tremble, unwind from Sam's hair when Sam tastes the same path, tongue sliding back down to press firmly at Dean's rim. With a choke, Dean's hands fly up to clench the sheet, twisting the fabric on either side of his head in his fists, knees going wide, feet pressing down into the mattress.

Sam compensates for the lift, practically holds his brother up in the air as he buries his face into the crease of Dean's ass. He drinks in the earthy scent, swipes relentlessly from rim to sac with the breadth of his tongue. His saliva drips down his chin, glistens in the fine hairs that lay damp and dark against Dean's skin. The texture of the flesh here is magnificent, Sam's mouth eating his brother up like a starving man at a feast. He takes it turns to suck the skin into his mouth and release it, and pressing the point of his tongue into Dean's center, curling the tip to run it along the inside under the ring of muscle. Dean pours whines and whimpers and groans to wash it all down and Sam's convinced that he'll never get enough, his jaw will never tire, and there'll always be room for more.

“Need you, need you,” Dean moans brokenly, bucking unevenly against Sam's mouth. The quiver in Sam's arms relents as he lowers Dean's ass to the mattress. Sam pushes against the backs of Dean's thighs and Dean's absolutely on board, grabs the backs of his own knees to lift and spread and make room for Sam. The frank vulnerability and damn-it-all desire is palpable and both brothers hiss at the initial contact of Sam's dick pushing slowly into his brother.

It's a conscious effort not to snap his hips and tear into Dean. But Sam bears it, tightens the muscles in his abdomen and holds back the instinct to ride and claim and fuck. Dean exhales shakily, lets Sam carry the weight of his legs on his shoulders so he can touch himself. The sight of Dean's dick slipping in and out of his fist is hotter than anything else Sam's ever seen and he can't help leaning up on his knees, rolling his hips forward. Dean's eyes squeeze shut and he tilts his head back into the mattress, mouth open on a high noise of approval. Sam takes that as permission to move and he does, slowly feeding his cock into his brother's hole. It's slick with Sam's spit and that's enough to make him dizzy, heart already about to beat out of his chest. He's hot all over, thighs trembling, sweat breaking out and rolling down the middle of his back. 

He's fully seated and the heat inside of Dean, the exquisite clamp of muscles bearing down on his dick, hits him like a wave. An ebb that knocks the breath out of him and pushes his hips forward, onward, and into. Sam feels a spark at the base of his spine that curls his hips upward, and he presses as close to his brother as he can, chasing the tide of climax with the burn in his thighs spurring him up and up and up. Dean's hand flies fast and smooth along his cock, in tandem with the pace Sam's set, and he can't keep quiet. They're both so into it, into each other and liberated with that knowledge, that it isn't long before Dean's shaking, fist a blur over his dick, and then still, spilling over his fingers and onto his stomach and chest with a moan. Sam's not long after, finally bowled over by his release, balls tight against his body as he fills Dean up with his come. 

Their breaths slow and the brothers carefully shift apart. Dean moans quietly, lips curving into a satisfied smile. His hair is mussed, he's flushed and sweaty and he smells amazing to Sam. They clean up silently with one of the forgotten shirts and lie back side by side on the bed. 

“Whew,” Dean finally exhales. He turns to look at Sam. “Totally made the chick-flick moment worth it, right?” 

And Sam can only laugh in agreement. There's nothing left to settle between them, all their kinks worked out at last. Sam sits up, thinks about offering to wash Dean's back in the shower, and notices the damp remnants of his own come on the sheet under Dean. He sees that there's still some of it on Dean's ass, just a glisten of it suggesting that more would spill out if Dean were to sit or stand up. He licks his lips and shares a small smile of his own with his brother.

Well. Maybe they have another kink or two to work out after all.


End file.
